Link to PLY Away

Fair Fiber Wage, a look from the other side

You can’t pay people what they’ll take, you have to pay them what they’re worth. This simple premise becomes difficult for a myriad of reasons. The first and most confusing for some is that often people don’t know what they’re worth. That not knowing comes from a culture of silence, a lack of transparency, and as usual, the relentless pursuit of the almighty buck by people in power.

This is a huge issue in all areas of creation, and it’s hard for anybody to get a fair shake (or even to know what a fair shake is, what with all the shushing that goes on about money), but where it concerns craft, artists, fiber-work, and women is the one I’m most familiar with and the one I’m specifically talking about here. Those are a lot of areas that historically don’t get a lot of respect, right? Craft. Artists. Fiber-work. Women. Geez, it’s like a stacked deck, and I’m thrilled that Mary Beth and Abby are willing to show their cards, if you will, and get the conversation rolling.

I taught for 10 years before I started PLY Magazine and then PLY Away. I supported a family of 3, then 4, then 5 with teaching and writing, and it wasn’t easy. I could talk about that, but the truth is, I don’t teach very often now, so that’s no longer my reality and there are people with strong voices who can (and are) speaking to that. What I can speak to is the position I’m in now, which is overwhelmingly informed by my previous position as a teacher trying to eke a living out of the thing I was good at and loved doing. Now I run a magazine and put on an annual fiber retreat, and I try to do it fairly and with transparency.

I want to talk about the financials of a retreat, of a big retreat. I want to assure you that anyone who says it’s just not financially viable to pay teachers fairly (they wouldn’t use that word, of course; they’d say “pay teachers more than the industry standard” or something that makes it easier to swallow) is wrong. The key is not expecting a huge profit. Why should that be my (the organizer, underwriter, parent company, corporation) right? I believe that. The first thing you have to be willing to do is pay people what they are worth, and shockingly, that must include yourself (what I mean here is that I should get paid fairly and not expect huge profits and large salaries).

Before I get into the actual nitty-gritty numbers of PLY Away, let me give you the bottom line, in case financials bore you like they bore me (unless they’re my own). With all the outgoing and incoming money, the bottom line is it can be done. When I started this retreat, I told myself that if I could run a first-time retreat the way I wanted it to be run, treat everyone fairly, have it be enjoyable for teachers, vendors, and students alike, and break even, then I’d do it again.

I did and I am. It wasn’t hugely profitable, but that’s okay, I don’t need it to be. I don’t know when we started needing things to bring in huge profits to be worth our while. We don’t need to be rich to be happy, and this industry is not about getting rich, right? It’s about making things with our hands, about community, about who we are and who we want to be. If any aspect of this industry suffers (the farmers, the shepherds, the dyers, the teachers, the designers, the writers), the community is less. What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t need PLY Away to make a million; I just needed it to be sustainable and good. It is both those things.

Here’s our bottom line. If we sell all of our classes ¾ of the way out, there is a profit of $12k. If we sell all of the classes all the way out, there is a profit of $42k. And if we only fill the classes half full, we’ll lose about $17k. The truth is we’ll probably hit around the ¾ mark. That’s the hope anyway. And if we don’t, if we can’t do this, do it well and fairly, we shouldn’t be doing it. That’s that. You don’t sacrifice people and their livelihoods for profit. I won’t ever do that, and that’s not just for them, it’s for me.

So if you’re interested, let’s run through the numbers of what PLY Away’s actual debits and credits are, shall we?

Money Out

First, the venue. And it’s a nice venue. Really nice. You’ve gotta have a nice venue because as much as people say that they’d travel to a shack in the middle of nowhere to take a class with X, you can’t really expect them to, at least not more than once. So you pay for a venue in a nice location with good rooms, well-lit and roomy classes, and lots of food choices that is walkable to interesting things and is generally nice to be in. For me, there’s only one such place within 2 hours and that’s the Westin at Crown Center. Next year a new venue is opening, and that may give me some bargaining room, but for now, this is what I have. I tell you all this so you don’t get it in your head that I must get off cheap and other retreats surely pay more.

Here’s what I pay for the venue: $20,000 (that’s for the classrooms and marketplace for 5 days)

Then there’s food. No venue will rent to you if you don’t sign a food and beverage guarantee. And it’s a lot. I have to agree to use $10,000 worth of food and beverages. At first I thought that’d be easy because it’d include what our attendees use – wrong. It’s just what I order for the event. Things that can and are included in that 10k: the coffee and tea cart open to all in the marketplace, the coffee and tea cart in the spinners’ lobby, the break time snacks in the spinners’ lobby, and the banquet.

And about the banquet, I chose the most inexpensive meal available, which is $50/plate, but because there is a 25% tax on top of it, it’s really about $65, which is what I charged for each banquet ticket. A straight wash, the banquet, but it’s worth it because it adds to the experience, gets everyone together, and is fun!

So that’s the main venue costs. But wait! It’s 20k and 10k, but like I said, there’s a 25% tax on each of those (and annoyingly, the tax doesn’t count towards the 10k food and beverage agreement; it’s added after I reach 10k). So that means the venue’s total cost to me is $37,500. About 50 people bought tickets to the banquet (the other 60 people booked a full schedule of classes, so I paid for their banquet), so that means you can take $3250 off that total. So my new check to the Westin is more like $34,250.

The next major expense is the teachers. Here’s what I pay (and here’s a link if you want to see more about this).

  • $650 per full day of teaching, $325 per half day of teaching, paid before departure for first-time teachers.
  • $700 per full day of teaching, $350 per half day of teaching, paid before departure for returning teachers.
  • $40 per diem for food, personal expenses, etc. (keep in mind we do cover at least 2 dinners too)
  • $25 per day for shipping expenses (no receipts needed)
  • travel (airfare or current IRS rate for car mileage up to price of airfare)
  • single room at PLY Away venue from the night before teaching begins until morning after teaching ends
  • optional teachers’ dinner
  • optional banquet ticket
  • optional last night dinner and teacher wind-down

When I break that down for the teachers we have, it looks like this:

15 teachers (9 new teachers, 6 returning teachers) teaching a total of 5 days (some teach 1, 2, 3, or 4 days; anyone with 3 days or more gets a half or full day break in the middle if they want it) for a total of:

New teachers total: $17,000

Returning teachers total: $15,500

Total teacher salaries: $32,500

But that’s not all it takes to bring a teacher. There’s the per diem, which for 15 at $40 each day they’re here comes out to $2000. There’s shipping at $25 per day for each teaching day, which equals $1300. There’s airfare and travel, which comes out to about $6700. All of those things together come to another 10k even. And of course we have hotel rooms, which come to $15,000 if you include my own room too.

So far that’s

$34,250 for the venue

$32,500 for teacher salary

$10,000 for per diems, shipping, and travel

$15,000 for hotel rooms

$91,750: total

But that’s not really all it costs. There’s the teachers’ dinner: $600.

I like to buy each teacher a pretty good assortment of snacks for their rooms because I know how sick I get of eating out each meal and it’s sometimes hard to find good, healthy stuff. I find out which teachers are GF, Veg, Vegan, etc. and I hit Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods and each teacher gets a goodie bag that I hope will last them the entire time they’re at PLY Away: a bunch of bananas, apples, oranges, muffins, trail mix, granola and cereal bars, nuts, chocolate, and a large bag of popcorn or something like it. This doesn’t cost a lot, but I can tell you it’s really appreciated. $300.

I also want the vendors to be happy and taken care of so I hire a couple of people to help unload their goods: $1600.

We also do a big $500 giveaway to one spinner who fills up his/her punch card in the marketplace. In an attempt to support the vendors, we run a contest; anyone who purchases from 10 different vendors in the marketplace is entered and the winner gets $500 to be spent in the marketplace. There’s also a *no purchase option, but to be honest, it’s super annoying and nobody did it last year, but we had over 100 cards in the drawing: $500.

Then there are the little things like banners, shirts, programs, buttons, goodie bags, advertising, website stuff, etc.: $2000.

So the total for those extra things is $5000.

Which brings our grand total outgoing money to $96,750.

 

Money In

Okay, now what about what we bring in? Here’s hoping it’s more than that, right?

I struggled with class fees. I want them to be fair, but they also have to cover that huge number up there, right? I looked at lots of different retreats and festivals, and in the end, what we needed to bring in to make it all work falls just below the the middle of retreat class prices, which I’m okay with. It’s a good chunk of change, for sure, but there’s a range and I feel like each class is worth it.

Here are the classes we offer and the money each brings in if it sells ½, ¾, or 100% out. The number is () is the cost and the other number is how many we’re holding of that type of class.

Class length                       ½ sold              ¾ sold                   sold out

3-day classes ($380): 3        $9,120            $13,680                      $18,240

2-day classes ($275): 6         $13,200          $19,800                      $26,400

1-day classes ($165): 17        $22,440          $33,660                      $44,880

1/2-day  ($90): 26                   $18,720         $28,080                      $37,440

 

Total class intake                   $63,480          $95,220                      $126,960

 

Of course, the event registration company takes a percentage of that so we have to adjust those numbers down a bit.

Total intake after reg fees  $60,306          $90,459               $120,612

But that’s not all we take in. We’d be in trouble if it was, right?

We have sponsors who help immensely and when I say we couldn’t do it without them, I truly mean it (to check out our sponsors, go here), to the tune of about $12,000.

We have vendors, and each booth space is $350 so that brings in about $7,000.

T-shirts are a wash because we sell them at cost, and we give away the goodie bags and the buttons.

So, here’s where we are:

Total intake if we sell all of our classes ¾ out, which I feel is a reasonable goal:

$90,459 class intake after fees

$12,000 from sponsors

$7,000 from marketplace booth sales

$109,459 total income with classes 3/4 filled

And with our output at $96,750, that stands to make PLY Away about $12,000 profit.

If we sell only half out, it’s a total intake of $60,306 plus sponsors and marketplace (total $79,306) and minus the total output for a total loss of  $17,453. Yes, that’s a loss. Scary stuff, but that won’t happen.

Of course, the ideal situation is that every class sells out totally and PLY Away makes a huge profit of 42k! But that’s a little much to ask, isn’t it? All I want is to keep going, make and pay a fair wage, and be and spread happiness. It’s what I got into this to do, and when I can’t do that anymore, either via the magazine or the event, it’ll be time to do something else. I don’t see that time around any corner though.

I want to note here that I could make more. I don’t have to have the extras like the give-a-ways, the vendor help, the teacher snack bags, and the teacher dinner. I could charge more for classes — if you look around at like-retreats, we’re a little below the middle. But I like the choices I’ve made and will keep making them as long as it works for PLY Away. I mostly want to point this out to point out that this type of model is viable even if you need to make more than I do. There’s a higher profit margin possible without paying people unfairly, you just have to want to make it work.

So that’s it. If you made it this far, I applaud your stick-to-it-ness and perhaps you’d like a job. Someday we’ll be hiring. You’re not going to get rich, but you will be treated fairly.

It’s Been a Long Summer

We take turns contributing to this lovely little Ply Magazine blog and Jacey never asks us to write about anything in particular except I’m pretty sure it should be somehow related to spinning. It’s up to us to decide what to add to the discussion. So I was looking at my calendar last week and realized that this week was my turn again and I began to panic. And I have thought and considered and wondered what to write about for almost an entire week and as of this morning I still have nothing.

Want to know why?

Well, so did I. So I went back through this summer and looked at what I had been doing this since June. Wow. Almost no spinning at all. Of course I’ve had a couple of article deadlines and I did what I needed to do for that but in May I had made a sort of master list of the things I needed to accomplish by now that had to do with my work, which is spinning. I have accomplished exactly none of it – except for the couple of articles that had deadlines of course (but even those were late).

What did I do instead?20160811_120904 (1)

Well, I went to Pennsylvania several times to visit my parents. My dad was having caner treatments and he was very sick so I have been consumed with worry about him since late in February. We got good news this week though. He is in remission. So don’t you start worrying too.

 

Pennsylvania is a good long drive from Here in Michigan. My parents live outside of Philadelphia so it takes about 11 20160702_121748hours with stops to get there. So I did finish a couple of audio books!

July was filled with Brittney and Thatcher who came from Utah to visit for a month. Thatcher is the twoest two year old I think I have ever met. So not a lot gets done because the kid has energy and he loves to test the will of all of the people around him.

August was a month of focusing on my house which I hadn’t really done in a while – and maybe a little of being overwhelmed by the spinning work that I still needed to accomplish. So I ignored the work, as all healthy minded adults do, and decided to redecorate 2 rooms. I’m super happy with the result. But no spinning got done.

I mostly blame these 4 people. They wouldn’t leave me alone. Mom, mom, mom!

20160702_103327

Get to work!

This past week I decided that I would settle down and do the work. And nothing went right. I didn’t have the things I needed, my spinners and wheels were rebelling, the kids needed stuff and there were appointments and a whole bunch of nonsense.

So here we are. September 1. Tomorrow we are taking a bit of a short vacation to visit Chicago. Just a few days. Tuesday, school begins again. Tuesday I will have the house to myself. (Well, Lousmith is home too but that’s never bad.) Tuesday I will get back to work.

Now is the time to try not to make outrageous, unachievable goals. I cannot spin 10,000 yards of 2 ply and get it on the loom and weave it by Friday….can I?

 

 

Have you ever wanted to decorate your wheel?

For some of us, a spinning wheel is a thing of simple beauty all on its own – we’re called to the various wood finishes, and we love the clean lines and traditional wooden colors. For others of us, a spinning wheel is like a blank canvas, just waiting for our artistic touches. If you’ve ever considered putting some color on YOUR spinning wheel, Bonny Acklin visits the blog today to explain how she transformed a well-traveled wheel into the gypsy it always wanted to be.


IMG_3427When I came home with a 1970’s Country Craftsman and said, “I think I’ll decorate her!” my husband thought I was crazy to deface such a beautiful wheel. Well, I did it anyway, and the result pleased me.

Not being a painter, I didn’t want to jump into this blindly. I knew I needed some help, so I began my search for information. I found some valuable resources on the web, and I also got some great tips from my crafty friends. My main concerns were how to prep the wood, what type of paint to use and what kind of finish I should apply to preserve my work for years to come. Opinions on how to go about this varied, so I just settled on what I thought seem most logical and least complicated.

And so the process of giving this wheel a makeover began…

First, I had to come up with some inspiration. Since it seemed this wheel had moved around quite a lot, leading a nomad’s life, I settled on a gypsy theme. I did some research on gypsies to help me get a feel for colors and design.

supliesI was able to find everything I needed at my local arts & crafts store. I used acrylic paints for my project because they’re durable and come in a vast array of colors. I also picked up some 400 grit sandpaper, denatured alcohol and a variety of paint brushes. A word of advice: when you pick out brushes, don’t buy the cheap ones; it’ll pay off in the end.

I began by lightly sanding all areas where I wanted to apply paint with 400 grit sandpaper. After sanding, I wiped down the areas with denatured alcohol, which removes residue, allowing the paints to adhere to the surface of the wood.

The hardest part was lying down that first stoke of paint. I started with the Mother-Of-All because it presented some decorating opportunities that I felt comfortable with. Once I’d accomplished that, things fell into place.

use a lightIn areas where I accidently dripped paint, it was easily removed with a cotton ball saturated with denatured alcohol. For small areas, I wrapped a toothpick with a small piece for cotton ball and dipped it in the denatured alcohol. This was the perfect tool for removing drips from hard to reach places.

Once I felt the makeover was complete, I let the acrylic paint cure for a few days.  I gave the newly painted areas a once over with some wood stain. (One of my crafty friends suggested this as a way to soften the colors. If you decide to do this, be sure to use a stain that matches the finish on your wheel.  Just follow the directions on the can.)

The last step was to apply a sealer to protect my work. Before going forward I wanted to be sure that the wheel was clean so I wiped her down with a soft lint-free cloth. I gave it the entire wheel two coats of polyurethane – it’s important to let the first coat dry completely before adding the second one.

Decorating this wheel was a fantastic experience that created a bond between Gypsy and Me. That sounds so silly but it’s true. She’s got a personality that’s all her own and I’m the one who gave it to her.


IMG_3434Bonny Acklin learned to weave, knit and crochet as a child but really didn’t do much with fiber until her kids were grown.  She had always crafted with acrylic yarn. Then one day, a friend took Bonny to her LYS… that was the beginning of the end. She became intrigued with all the wonderful, and very different types of yarns and fibers available. One thing led to another and before long she was dyeing wool and spinning her own yarn. This has become her passion: beautiful colors and lovely soft fiber. 

If you’re interested in decorating your wheel or if you already have, check out Bonny’s Ravelry group, Decorate Your Wheel.

Permission to Experiment

Today fiber artist Joanne Seiff joins us for a guest post on figuring out the rules… and then breaking them! Let your experimentation run wild – some of our articles from the Bulky issue might be just what you need to break out of your rut and do something different with your spinning this month!


 

Giving ourselves permission to break the rules is a luxury.

colorexperiment2Often, when I teach spinning, I hear a newbie say “Am I doing this right?” or “Am I following the rules?” I usually call the entire class to attention to address this issue. If we focus on human history, we have to acknowledge that as a species, we’d have gotten way too cold (hypothermic even) and died out in the wilderness if there were only one way to spin. Ever since we stopped exclusively wearing animal skins and started producing textiles, folks have been spinning.

This may be simplistic, but it’s also important. New spinners — and even experienced ones — need to be open to the idea that there are many good paths to producing useful and even beautiful yarns. Yet, in our rule and habit-bound lives, this can be a hard approach to take. Once you learn how to do something, it’s human nature to repeat it, to seek reassurance through the familiar path to success. That’s why so many spinners have a ‘habit’ yarn. It’s the yarn that we spin, again and again, without trying. It’s thick or thin, even or lumpy, but when we’re unconsciously spinning, it’s our standard. It happens without thinking about it.

bulkywoolmohairRomneylockscottonthreadMany of us don’t experiment with something new because it’s risky.  We resist experimentation because something might go wrong; we might waste money, time, or fiber. We spent a lot on that hand-dyed 4oz braid of roving; why mess it up? There’s only 10 minutes to spin; why waste it on sampling an art yarn or a lace weight? Or — this prize-winning fleece is only 2 lbs! If I try spinning a variety of yarns, it will all disappear before I’ve made anything!

These are all legitimate concerns, but one of the reasons why I cherish run of the mill, ordinary medium wools is to avoid feeling like this. I won’t break the bank if I produce 400 yards of super-bulky yarn. I won’t ruin anything if I spin for ten minutes and it doesn’t look exactly the way it looked yesterday. Lastly, if I buy a big Romney fleece from a farmer or 10 lbs of white medium wool roving, there is plenty to spare if my experimentation doesn’t work out.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t like waste. I try to use every last inch of handspun. However, I have a big stash and I’m not afraid to use it. Recently, my twins showed interest in knitting. We rushed upstairs to my yarn bins to choose their favorite colors. In no time, we were handling yarns, finger knitting, and discussing designs. Each had their own little scrap of “knitting” when we were done. That yarn was not wasted— it inspired future knitters. I felt just the same about the roving and the drop spindles I’d made when they wanted to spin. That yarn, roving and spindles? They were made to be loved, used and enjoyed.

Romney singles& cut silk wasteIt’s all too easy to ‘over cherish’ our stash. I find myself holding onto that last bit of fleece I got on my honeymoon, a glorious hand-dyed skein I spun, or a bit of luxury fiber so precious that it’s too good to be used. It can be hard to break free of this mindset. Yet, the hand spun qiviut and tussah silk scarf I made for my brother-in-law or the alpaca and silk mitten, scarf and hat set I made a friend are just as cherished now that they are in use, keeping someone warm. Those folks will wear those rare fine fibers out while enjoying their winter woollies. Isn’t that the way it should be?

Last year, when I knit my twins’ winter mittens, one of my boys insisted that his mitts be handspun, dyed green, with a white stripe, and “that gray Shetland wool from our friend Margaret’s sheep.” Who can resist making handmade mitts for a three year old who appreciates it? I couldn’t. He’s worn them for 7 months (Canadian winters are long!). They show no sign of wearing out. He’ll outgrow them in time to order something exquisite from the stash. I’m waiting to hear what’s next.

Spindlespunmitts1In winter, my preschoolers and I beat back the doldrums of another snowy day by starting a dye pot. We threw in some stained white napkins. Sadly, they were a polyester blend, so while the dye took, the napkins didn’t absorb most of it. I faced throwing out a perfectly good pot full of dye. In the rush to use something –because it’s hard to stash an already half-used pot of dye- I threw in two balls of medium white wool singles that I had handy.

I broke all the rules. I didn’t soak the yarn first. It wasn’t plied. It wasn’t in skeins. It wasn’t a project sized amount. In the end, it didn’t even use up all that dye. No matter.

Sometimes the best indulgence is in allowing myself to break the rules and see what happens. What occurred? Nothing. The yarn didn’t break. The dye took up beautiful and evenly. The strangest things can happen when we allow ourselves to see what will emerge.

Those single skeins of red and purple just might be next year’s mittens, or booties for a friend’s new baby. There’s no telling where these experimental journeys, this delicious chance to create and this indulgence in exploring new fiber might lead.


Seiff3Joanne Seiff is the author of Fiber Gathering and Knit Green. She writes, spins, knits and designs in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Check out her work out on Ravelry—her designs might sing in your hand spun!

 

 

My Hero – Mabel Ross

I’ve been thinking lately about my spinning heros. The people who have pushed me and educated me and made me a better spinner

Of course some of them are alive and I actually get to talk to a few of them. Some of them are no longer living, but I have their books and videos. mabelross

One in particular has been on my mind a lot. Her name is Mabel Ross. Maybe you have never heard of her. If you haven’t, please look up her work. Her methods may not be for everyone but I love the way she speaks and teaches. The reason I’ve been thinking about her is because when I was at the Palouse Fiber Fest in Idaho in June, one of my other spinning heros, Sarah Swett, gave me a Mabel Ross lap cloth that was signed by Mabel herself! I don’t think that Sarah had any idea how much that little gift would mean to me when she gave it to me.

Mabel’s style can be a little rigid but she has a lot to teach you. She’s very precise. As you can see from the markings on the lap cloth, those lines are there to help you have each draft be a precise length. Mabel loved the math of spinning and she didn’t mind telling you.

There are several books written by Mabel Ross as well as a video which is the first thing I bought of her’s (my first copy was VHS). The video is called Handspinning; Advanced Techniques. This one you can still find at some retailers. The books, as far as I know, are all out of print. But let me give you the titles in case you want to go searching for them.

The Encyclopedia of Handspinning

The Essentials of Handspinning

The Essentials of Yarn Design for Handspinners (this is the most expensive one)

Handspinner’s Workbook: Fancy Yarns (This one is also usually pretty expensive.)

Just keep your eyes open. Sometimes you come accross these books at a bargain. But i feel like they are worth every penny.

Sometimes you just don’t get the gig.

Today I’m extremely delighted to be able to feature a guest post from the one and only Abby Franquemont. (Yes, THAT Abby Franquemont. Can you hear our fan-girl squeals from all over the world?). We thought this was a super timely post considering we just decided on PLY Away teachers and subsequently had to send out over 40 “We’re so sorry…” emails to fantastic spinners and teachers from all over the world. It was tough. I mean, it’s super hard to say no to great people anyway but when you couple that with a I-wanna-please-everyone personality, it’s rough. Abby’s words helped me understand that people do understand. Maybe they’ll help you with something too. And for all those teachers that won’t be teaching at PLY Away this year, you totally could be! – Jacey    

 

Now here’s Abby!


I’ve been a pro fiber artist for ten years and it’s time to talk about something tough.

When I first left my career in tech to be a full-time fiber professional, I wasn’t sure I wanted to teach classes. In fact, “but I’d have to teach” had been something I said for years to talk myself out of making the leap into self-employment in the fiber sphere. I knew I would have to, but I didn’t think I’d enjoy it.

It wasn’t so much the teaching itself that worried me, as everything that surrounds it. I was confident I could get in a classroom and present the information people needed. I wasn’t sure about the emotional load. You see, I had watched my father teach on this same circuit, and had even assisted with some of his workshops. And before that, those workshops were taught by my father and my mother. And she quit doing it — not because she wasn’t great at it, but because she hated the emotional space it put her in.

One day my friend Beth called me up. She ran a fiber shop in Michigan, and she wanted me to come teach something. I tried to talk her out of that, but she was pretty insistent and so before too long, there I was, and it went fine. I had friends and colleagues and people who’d known my father, all over the place, telling me I just had to teach — submit a proposal here, talk to that person over there, and so on. So I started doing that, and lo and behold, I started getting tons of work teaching. It quickly became the core thing I did for work, pushing into the time I’d allotted for production or writing and taking over almost completely.

I thought I had it nailed, man. I really did. Invitations to teach, or submit proposals, were rolling in fast and furious and I was turning down work because I couldn’t fit it into my schedule. I was proposing to the big name festivals and events and my proposals were being accepted. My articles were being accepted all over the place.  I proposed a book, and while my first proposal was not accepted, my second one was. So I figured I’d made it — that I had arrived at a point where now, all I had to do was keep doing the job.

That’s how it was, for a couple of years. What I didn’t really understand was that there is no such point. I should have; it was what my parents had experienced, and it was true for musicians when I worked as a road manager for a veteran artist and performer. Yes, sometimes there’s a hot year or a hot season, like right after you release some new piece of work and everyone wants a little bit of that. But that’s all it is: a hot time, and a good run.

For two years running, I was accepted to teach at a major event. It was one where my father had taught, and one where I’d been well-received, where my classes had filled early and fully, where students stayed engaged when they went home and were e-mailing me about their successes and all kinds of things, and which was run by the folks who had just published my book. So the third year I proposed, I figured I was a shoo-in. The weekend when everyone expected to hear yes or no, I went up to my friend Beth’s shop to take a class from our mutual friend — a longstanding teacher who had mentored me, encouraged me, and pushed me plenty. She had welcomed me to the grownup table, so to speak.

“Well?” she asked when I got there, “Have you heard?” I hadn’t. Her face fell, as did mine, I’m sure. We knew the deal: if she, and a few other friends, had heard, and I hadn’t, it meant I wasn’t picked that year.

Here’s the other thing about the world of fiber arts instructors: it’s tiny. I mean it’s really, really tiny. And over time, you end up friends with lots of your colleagues. I mean real friends, not just acquaintances — the kind of friends where you know each other’s extended families and there’s a chance you’ve shared a queen bed at a B&B. Over even more time, you end up that kind of friends with not only your colleagues, but other long-timers who are vendors, event planners, farmers, editors of magazines, equipment makers, you name it. The fiber arts community really is different from many other niche communities. With pun intended, I’m afraid, it really is that tightly knit.

I was devastated not to get that gig. I was mortified not to have been good enough. I rehashed every single thing I had ever done wrong, every possible misstep I’d made, and — as is my natural tendency — turned that into the club with which I beat myself up for not being good enough. Privately, and to my closest friends, I cried. I raged. I feared. I took it all personally. I rationalized why it was not. I worried what it would mean. I feared what everyone would think. The whole world would know I hadn’t been good enough. Nobody would want me for anything anymore because they would all know I hadn’t been good enough. Everyone would ask me why I wasn’t good enough and I wouldn’t know what to say.

Well, time passed. And probably there was nothing but time passing that could have shown me concretely that what my mentors and friends had always said was the simple truth: sometimes you just don’t get the gig.

That’s hard. It’s hard to explain it to people who don’t do this crazy thing for a living, too. Every proposal is like a job application and interview. What’s more, all your friends are going for the same job. Everyone can’t get every job. No matter how much we all wish there were a way that could be, there just isn’t one. So it’s this emotional roller coaster, all the time. If I teach at 6 events in a year, that’s 6 times I applied and got the job; there are always at least as many — usually more — times where I applied and didn’t get the gig.

I’m not going to talk right now about how it feels when you do get the gig, and you know you have to step up to the plate and do it. I’m just going to share a few things I do to deal with the emotional load of not getting the gig.

  1. When I apply, I try to assume I won’t get it. This means I don’t experience the deep lows on the emotional roller coaster when I’m not selected, and if I’m selected, it’s a pleasant surprise and it never becomes routine.
  2. When I don’t hear back and someone else has, I try to wait a week before assuming it means anything at all for me. There have been times when I didn’t get the gig, went through the emotional turmoil and self-loathing over it, and then… got the gig after all.
  3. I try hard to cheer for my friends as hard as I cheer for myself. Sometimes I don’t nail that and I totally am jealous or hurt. The times when I’ve been able to applaud someone else for their success are the times when the hurt goes away the fastest.
  4. I go back and look at what classes do end up getting announced. 9 times out of 10, there are reasons those classes beat mine. Sometimes they’re a better fit for the specific audience or theme. Sometimes they’re fresh and new and mine are a little bit stale. Sometimes the teacher is just whoever is the new star on the scene or has the newest hot album out, if you will. Sometimes my pricing wasn’t a fit. Sometimes someone else’s proposal was a better fit for reasons beyond anybody’s control. But where I can find reasons someone else’s pitch edged mine out, it gives me something concrete to do with my feelings of disappointment: work on improving my own proposals. And this helps me remember it’s not about the person, so much as it is about what we’re all out here trying to do: teach people stuff about yarn.
  5. Admit I’m bummed out. There have been times when my close friends have gotten gigs I didn’t, and they’ve been super excited about it. Sometimes, that’s been tense and uncomfortable. The times when we’ve been able to move past that the fastest have been the ones where I’ve been able to say “I’m bummed I didn’t get the gig.” What’s hard is that sometimes the only people who really understand are my colleagues, who also did, or didn’t, get the same gig themselves.
  6. Don’t detach. Except for detaching as far as I have to. I know, this sounds internally conflicted, but I mean it. I try to detach far enough to remember it’s not personal, but no more than that. It’s the emotional investment that makes something worth doing. If I detach too far, then it might as well be working a temp job as a typist. In which case, that’s probably a better career choice for me right then because it pays more and the position is more secure.

“Fiber Arts Teacher” is the hardest job I’ve ever done, and a lot of that is because of the emotional roller coaster. But I’d have to say it’s also the most rewarding, and the one where I’ve grown the most as a human being from doing it. And a lot of that comes from the fact that even for me, a well-known teacher with an international following, I still only get the gig about one time in four. Which is about where my father was when he was a big name. It’s where we all are, here at the grownup table.

So don’t take a rejection from one gig as a rejection of your place as a teacher sitting at the grownup table. It doesn’t mean that. It really only means one thing:

Sometimes, you just don’t get the gig. And dealing with that is part of the job, whether this is the first time you’ve proposed something, or the thousandth. Don’t let it get you down. It may be the first time, but it won’t be the last — unless you stop proposing. And don’t do that. Because we really need all the fiber teachers we can get. The more there are, the more seats we need at the table, and that is the way we all win in the long run.

Hand Prepping the Itch – All the Mistakes

rolags batts editedI am not a very patient person. I think that’s one of the reasons why I’ve shied away from hand prepping fiber. But now that I want to learn to hand prep I have to slow down and be patient. I knew that somewhere along the way it was going to be a struggle, and I just found the spot. I enjoyed washing the Bond fleece, didn’t mind the mess or all of the water; I loved the smell. It went pretty quickly, or seemed to because I could do other things in between washing and rinsing.

 

Not so open and opened. Guess which carded easier?

Not so open and opened. Guess which carded easier?

I assumed I would put the Bond fleece on my drum carder and zip, zip I would have lovely fluffy batts to spin. Not exactly. I made a bunch of errors, all because I rushed. First, I didn’t open up the fiber enough before I ran it through the carder and I got neps, lots of little tangled fibers. After sighing like a teenager denied car keys, I spent more time teasing open the fiber and applying it in thinner layers to the drum carder. There were fewer neps, but there were still neps. More sighing and maybe I stomped my foot. I will shamefully tell you that I tried both original carding techniques multiple times before admitting that they didn’t work.

 

Neps, gross!

Neps, gross!

I sat; I hated on hand prepping; I thought about what causes neps. Neps can happen when a fine, crimpy fiber is treated poorly. If it gets stretched too far, too fast, some of the fibers spring back and wrap around themselves forming neps. I had been operating this prepping expedition with the idea that Bond is like Corriedale. It is, but it isn’t. I went back and looked at my fiber. I pulled out a bit, I held it up to the light, I twanged it and watched it spring back. Then I petted it and apologized. It was finer and more crimpy than Corriedale that I would zip through my drum carder. I dug out my hand cards.

 

Not so many neps with the hand carding.

Not so many neps with the hand carding.

 

Hand carding made the Bond much happier, but really tested my patience. It takes a long time! Granted I don’t practice much, so my technique is, well, saying it’s wonky wouldn’t be too far off. But I am going to persevere and hand card the rest of the Bond. I suspect by the end of these couple of pounds of fiber I won’t be eye-rolling and head shaking anymore, but just enjoying the ride.

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women spinning on a spindle

Spindles – They are for everybody

I’m primarily a wheel spinner. Actually it’s been that way since I learned to spin. I love my wheels. I love how they look. I love how I imagine I look when I’m using them (don’t laugh). Many of the classes I teach are wheel focused classes.

But I like spindles too. I have plenty of them. Don’t ask how many. It’s not important.

When I learned to spin I began on a spindle but it was slow going and I was convinced that my lack of progress was because of the tool I was using and I needed a wheel. So I bought myself a used Ashford Traditional. Needless to say, the tool was not my problem. But that’s another story. Anyway, I took some lessons and got to be decent on the wheel. When I was satisfied that I was learning and improving I picked up the spindle again and magically I could do it! From then on I was a fan.

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Let me tell you why I think you should like spindles too – beyond the fact that they can be beautiful.

For the last couple of years I have been immersed in a couple of projects that needed a wheel to complete so I hadn’t picked up a spindle in a while. Then, last month I was teaching at the Palouse Fiber Festival in Moscow, Idaho and I was there with my friend Esther Rodgers who was also teaching. Esther had been told several times by Abby Franquemont that her arm problems when she used a spindle were because she was using a spindle that we lovingly refer to as a boat anchor. What that means is that is was too heavy. I was able to drag Esther to the table of Greensleeves Spindles. I own at least 10 of their spindles myself and I know that they are super good spindles. Well, Esther began to spin IMG_20160702_182904and try some out and she chose one to buy. Well, she didn’t stop spinning on that spindle for the whole weekend and I think she’s still spinning with it! I also think she may have visited the Jenkins table and bought a second one before we left Idaho.

So I was inspired and last week we were headed to Greenfield Village in Dearborn, Michigan just to spend the day with all of our kids and grandkids and on the way out the door I grabbed a spindle and an illusive Abby Batt to work on while we walked around. I got pretty much done in the midst of semi chaos. and I began to think about what I learned from spinning on a spindle. all of the things I’ve learned translate to wheel spinning and make me a better overall spinner.

I learned to better handle live singles. I rarely have tangles. I learned this by butterflying the yarn onto one hand to raise the spindle rather than reaching for the spindle when it is hanging by a super long thread. If you are unsure what I mean by butterflying the yarn you can see it here at around the 5 minute mark. (yes, that’s me a few years ago.)

I learned that sometimes it’s better to take some time with a project rather than always trying to be in production mode. Please don’t mistake me, spinners all over the world spin pounds and pounds of yarn using only spindles but I am not as practiced at it as they are since my focus has been a different tool. I am thoroughly convinced if I made yarn exclusively on a spindle and carried one with me all of the time I would be able to do it too. but since that isn’t the case, I like to use a spindle for special fibers that I only ahve a little of so that I can savor the experience.

I learned (again) that the right tool for the job is often key to getting the results that I want. spindles can add twist extremely quickly and with very little tension on the yanr being made so they are perfect for spinning super fine/gossamer type yarns that spinning wheels may not be as good at.

I’m sure there is more that I’ve learned but it’s all in my hands and not in my brain right now.

Do you spin on a spindle? What have spindles taught you?